


familiarity, fondness + fear

by helenecixous



Category: Happy Valley (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, it's just bc im very gay for catherine lbr, it's mostly fluff, kirsten didn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/pseuds/helenecixous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought you could decorate the cupboards,” Clare says, holding up a plastic bag. “You’ve been sayin’ for ages that you want to. It’s a nice day, good lightin’ for it. So I popped down t’ shop an’ I got a book of stencils. You can choose from, well, I think there’s about a hundred?”<br/>“Will you leave me alone if I agree to do the bloody cupboards?” Catherine asks, and Clare holds her hands up in a surrender.<br/>“Deal.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	familiarity, fondness + fear

**Author's Note:**

> kirsten didn't die B))) just some catherine cawood appreciation for me happy valley squad

“You’ve got t’ put him out of your mind, Catherine,” Clare insists. She’s perched on the end of the sofa, a mug of tea in her hands as she watches her sister stare vacantly up at the ceiling.

“Put him out of me mind?” Catherine asks, turning to face Clare. “I’m sorry, we are on the same page here? We are talking about the little bastard who practically killed my daughter? The one who doused our Ryan in petrol and tried to blast them both to kingdom come? The one who almost killed me?”

Clare sighs, looking down at her tea. Persist - persist - persist, she thinks. “Y’know what I mean, you need a - a project.” A project, yes. She shifts triumphantly. “Remember last time I fell off wagon? An’ Helen came over t’ see me? An’ she brought me them colouring books and told me to distract myself?”

“I am  _ not  _ using colouring books,” Catherine snaps, sitting up and running both hands through her hair.

“I’m not suggestin’ that you do. All I’m sayin’ is that it might help, you know? An’ it mightn’t but you should at least try somethin’.”

“You finished all of the books anyway,” Catherine mutters. “Mike told me t’ go back to the counsellor. I told him where to stick his bloody counsellor.”

“People are jus’ trying to help, Catherine,” Clare says gently. “Our Ryan’s been askin’ about you. He’s worried.” A pause. “We all are.”

“Well, you needn’t be.”

“There’s no use just sittin’ around not doin’ anything,” Clare insists. She knows she can’t say right for saying wrong at the moment, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t keep trying. She remembers how Helen never gave up on her, even how Catherine never gave up on her before Helen came along. “Why don’t you pick our Ryan up from school? Or- or go down t’ shop? We need some more teabags. The peppermint ones you like.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Catherine says flatly. She knows her sister has a point, she knows that distraction techniques work. She knows that she could make herself feel at least marginally better, but she isn’t sure that she wants to. She thinks she deserves to be hurting, to be tormented, to be broken down bit by bit by Tommy Lee fucking Royce. Of course Clare knows, and of course Clare is going to play the part of the Responsible and Concerned Relative. Catherine reckons she’s tired of it. She misses Kirsten.

“What about them books you were readin’?”

“Can’t concentrate.”

“Have you thought about goin’ to the doctor? I know you said you don-”

“Clare. I’ll be  _ fine  _ as soon as they let me go back to work.”

Clare sighs. She stands up, and nods towards the other mug of tea cooling on the table. “Don’t let it go cold,” she says, and leaves.

Catherine lies back down and closes her eyes, and she thinks that maybe she’ll wake up, and all of this will have been a dream.

 

“Granny! Granny, wake up!” Ryan’s shoving her shoulder with both hands. She mumbles something and tries to turn over, to hide herself in the cushions. She wonders how long she needs to stay on the sofa before she becomes a part of it. “Auntie Clare got you a present!” he announces, completely unfazed by her reluctance to be dragged out of sleep.

“What?” she mutters, squinting and looking over her shoulder at his altogether too eager face. She sees Clare standing a bit behind him, with that irritatingly determined look on her face. Fuck.

“I thought you could decorate the cupboards,” Clare says, holding up a plastic bag. “You’ve been sayin’ for ages that you want to. It’s a nice day, good lightin’ for it. So I popped down t’ shop an’ I got a book of stencils. You can choose from, well, I think there’s about a hundred?”

“Will you leave me alone if I agree to do the bloody cupboards?” Catherine asks, and Clare holds her hands up in a surrender.

“Deal.”

Catherine huffs and sits up, throwing the blanket off her legs. Ryan’s already lost interest, and is running up the stairs. He sounds like he’s trying to impersonate a herd of elephants. She rubs her head and looks over at the mug of cold tea standing on the table, and then reaches out to take the bag from her sister. Just a couple of cupboards, and then Clare will have to leave her be. Sounded like heaven.

 

She decides to shower first, so she goes up to the bathroom and peels the clothes off her body slowly. Everything feels a bit sluggish, but she’s kind of used to it. She steps under the spray of hot water and lets the tension fall away from her slowly, and she lets herself focus on how the water feels on her shoulders, lets herself chase the bubbles carefully from her hair with her fingers. She knows that pulling herself out of these ruts has to be something she herself wants to do, and she knows that making attempts to appease people won’t really do shit, but Clare is nothing if not insistent. And she knows that she’ll have to haul herself out of it eventually.

Sighing, she turns the water off, steps out and wraps a towel around herself. She dries off methodically and goes to her bedroom. After a few minutes of searching she finds an old t shirt about six sizes too big that she’d bought at Disneyland when she took Becky and Daniel, and she pulls it on over some joggers, dries her hair and then ties it up. She feels slightly better in that way that showers often prompt, but she gives herself five minutes of silence anyway before heading back downstairs.

 

There’s a fresh cup of tea waiting for her on the kitchen table, next to a note and the plastic bag. Catherine picks the note up in one hand and the mug of tea in the other, and smiles to herself despite everything.  _ I’ve taken Ryan to see Daniel. Thought you might like the quiet. Ring me if you need me. I’ll bring Chinese back later. X  _ She silently thanks Clare and puts the note down before emptying the bag and poking through its contents. Stencil book, brushes, paint. She sits down and drinks the tea, idly flicking through the book until she finds a nice floral design, and she rips it out and goes to find a pencil.

 

Clare’s right, the sun is shining wonderfully through the kitchen windows, and Catherine enjoys how the window frame fractures the light so it comes through in fragments. She likes watching it catch the dust, and how it basks the kitchen in a slightly golden glow. She plugs her phone into some speakers and sticks on a playlist of bad 80s music that she’d never really fallen out of love with, and gets to work.

 

She’s just finishing making the last stencil on the last cupboard when there’s a knock on the door. Catherine puts everything down and climbs down from where she was sitting on the counter, and figures that Clare had just forgotten her keys.

She opens the door, and it isn’t Clare, it’s Kirsten. The officer is still sporting a cast, as Catherine is, but she looks okay. She’s holding a bunch of flowers.

“Clare called,” she explains softly. “I hope you don’t mind. She said you might want a bit of company, someone who wouldn’t nag you.”

Catherine smiles, and her chest tightens. She looks down, clears her throat, tries to speak, doesn’t quite make it. Her voice cracks, so she just smiles again and moves aside so Kirsten can come in. She leads the young woman back through and into the kitchen, and gestures to the cupboards. “She’s makin’ me craft. Reckons it’ll help, or something.”

“I think she’s right,” Kirsten says, stepping closer to Catherine and holding the flowers up. “These are for you.”

Catherine takes the flowers and puts them down on the table, and pulls Kirsten into a tight hug. “I missed you. I would’ve come round, but I thought you’d want time with Ollie-”

“Ollie’s gone,” Kirsten interrupts, hugging Catherine back. “Said he couldn’t take the pressure of not knowin’ whether I’d be comin’ back home every night. So he packed his stuff the other week and left.”

“I’m sorry,” Catherine murmurs, tightening her grip on Kirsten before stepping back and moving to sort the flowers out, to cut them and arrange them in one of Clare’s vases.

Kirsten moves to sit down at the table and shrugs. “It’s no loss, really. Things had been goin’ sour for a while. I think we’re better off as friends - we’re both happier this way.”

Nodding, Catherine knows what Kirsten means. It had been the same way with her and Richard, only with… slightly different circumstances acting as the catalyst. She wants to ask how Kirsten is, she wants to make sure she’s eating properly, sleeping properly, she wants to apologise for the fact that she wasn’t there to help when Tommy Lee Royce attempted to kill her. Instead, she glances over and smiles thinly. “How’s your arm?”

“Still attached,” Kirsten says, grinning and flexing her fingers. “It’s alright. Hurts when I sleep on it, but other than that… Doc says I’m healing quickly.”

“That’s good,” Catherine says, unwrapping the flowers with fingers that are trembling slightly.

“Mike reckons I’m lucky to be alive,” Kirsten says quietly. She looks around the kitchen, and then back at Catherine. “Says that if you ‘adn’t got there when you did, I’d be done for.”

“Mike likes to exaggerate. You’d have been fine, Kirsten. There would’ve been someone, if not me.”

It’s the first time they’ve been together properly since Kirsten had pulled Lewis Whippey over and found Ann Gallagher. They’d tried to hit her with the car, and when that hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped, Tommy Lee Royce had tried to shut her up with his hands instead. Catherine had got there with a scarily small amount of time to spare, and he’d started on her. The last thing she remembered was spraying Royce as Kirsten helped Ann out of the van, and both men making a hasty exit. As soon as they’d both been released from hospital, both Kirsten and Catherine were told to stay at home until they were fully healed, and both of them had consequently stewed.

Catherine finishes arranging the flowers and steps back to admire her work. “They’re lovely, thank you,” she says, bringing them to the table. “Do you want some tea?”

“Tea’d be great, thank you,” Kirsten nods, watching Catherine move about closely. “Do you want a hand?”

“If you could just grab me some mugs?” Catherine asks, filling the kettle up.

Kirsten stands up and reaches over Catherine to pick two mugs up, and Catherine’s struck by how suddenly close the woman is to her. She swallows just barely and moves aside, creating some space between them. They both wait for the kettle to boil in silence, both lost in their respective thoughts, and they both start slightly when the kettle clicks and simmers. Catherine pours the tea and hands Kirsten a mug, paying too much attention to where their fingertips brush, and the way that Kirsten’s eyes don’t leave her own.

“Listen, Kirsten-” she begins, looking away, and Kirsten shakes her head.

“Please don’t,” she says. “You’re goin’ to apologise, and I don’t want you to. You can say what you like, but we both know that if you ‘adn’t shown up, I wouldn’t be here.”

Catherine’s not cried properly since she’s been home from the hospital, but Kirsten’s words strike a chord in her, and she ducks her head, her eyes filling with tears that almost instantly start spilling down her cheeks. “I really- I really thought I was goin’ t’ be too late,” she says, her voice shaking. She puts her tea back down and wipes her cheeks, looking frustrated with herself. “You shouldn’t ‘ave been out there.”

“It’s my job,” Kirsten says, putting the mug down and shaking her head as she took Catherine’s hands in her own. “We know the risks of it, and you weren’t too late. You never are.”

Catherine thinks of Becky and she laughs dryly, swallowing thickly as she squeezes Kirsten’s hands. “I’m glad you have such faith in me.”

“I owe you a lot, Catherine. You don’t have t’ apologise to me, not for this.”

Nodding, Catherine forces a smile and lets go of Kirsten’s hands to wipe her face again. “Oh, look at me. I’m sorry.” She grabs a tissue and wipes her eyes. “Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it.”

Kirsten lends Catherine a smile and turns to the table, looking up at the cupboards. “What colours are you goin’ for, d’you think?”

Catherine looks at the flowers sitting on the table, and smiles. “White, yellow, and red?” she suggests, moving over to inspect the paint. “How good are you with a paintbrush? Clare’ll flip if they’re done badly.”

Kirsten rolls up her sleeves and grins, reaching for the palette. “I promise I shan’t get you int’ trouble.”

 

It takes them about two hours to get the cupboards painted, both of them talking little and not acknowledging to the other the way their thighs touch, and their shoulders brush every few minutes or so. It’s only when Catherine brushes her fringe out of her forehead and smudges yellow paint on her skin that Kirsten starts laughing and reaches out to wipe it for her.

The tender gesture startles them both, and neither of them move.  _ It’s so cliche _ , Catherine thinks, as she becomes painfully aware of every part of them that’s touching. She swallows, and she watches Kirsten’s eyes pose the question to her as her hand moves so that her thumb is just grazing over Catherine’s temple. She nods, just barely, and they both move quite effortlessly, and all that bullshit about first kisses is exactly that: bullshit, Catherine thinks. Their lips meet, and there are no fireworks, no string crescendo, no goosebumps, no tears. There’s just the warm familiarity, and fondness, and there’s the fear of losing each other, and then there’s the safety and reassurance that they provide for each other. Catherine knows it’s right, that it’s been right since the first day Kirsten walked into her office, and she knows that they’re not okay, they’re not fixed, they’re both still hurt and scared and angry, but it’s right. That’s all that seems to matter.

**Author's Note:**

> ye, the shower bit was probably unnecessary but what can u do. i had fun


End file.
